


Going Postal

by FarmlandTensions



Series: Ereri Week 2015 [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ereri Week, Ereri Week 2015, M/M, Pining, Pining Levi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:25:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4054873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarmlandTensions/pseuds/FarmlandTensions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Day one of Ereri Week 2015 - Pining.</p><p>Levi is a postman who develops an infatuation with the inhabitant of one of the houses on his postal route and begins sending him gifts so he can see him more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Postal

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did steal the name of a Terry Pratchett novel, and yes, the pun works better for that book than this story.

The first time I saw him I was smitten.

It’s not a common occurrence. In fact, it’s never happened like this before.

I’m not a friendly guy, and I’m not a big fan of people in general. My job is shit, but at least the people I have to interact with generally don’t see me as a person. They don’t expect small talk, they don’t expect me to be nice. I’m just a means to an end, the middleman.

I generally dread days when there’s a box sitting in my pile of envelopes, but the knowledge that most people don’t give a shit about who’s delivering their parcel gets me through it. I can just get a signature and move on, minimal words required. Most people are waiting on the parcel anyway, they’re ready for me and take it and let me go about my business.

This guy was different.

The house has been on my route since I started, but I don’t know how long he had been living there. I don’t bother to remember the names of the people whose shit I deliver, I just stick their letters and bills in their letterbox and move on.

That day it was raining. It was fucking miserable, and I had this fucking box to lug around. And when I got to the door, no-one bothered to open it. I rang the doorbell three times before I started hammering on the door, ready to strangle whatever lazy shit was making me wait outside in the fucking rain while he frolicked through dreamland.

And then he opened the door.

I don’t think I’d ever seen such a glorious sight before. His shaggy brown hair was toussled in such a perfect way, he’d clearly just woken up but it looked like it had been styled by the gods for some angelic photoshoot. His bright green eyes were half-lidded with sleep and blinking groggily at me. He was wearing this loose white wife-beater that hung just low enough for me to get a peak at his collarbones, and left his tan, toned arms in clear view, and other than that all he had on were a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He was fucking perfect. And tired enough that he had no fucking clue who I was or what I was doing there, so I was free to stare for a moment before it all clicked.

“My package!” He exclaimed, his whole face lighting up like I was the best fucking thing in the world. Sure, the look was for the fucking box instead of me, but it didn’t stop my chest from pounding.

I thrust the box into his arms and wordlessly handed him a form to sign, trying not to faint as he shot me a bright smile and thanked me for the delivery.

And I stood outside his door for far too long after he closed it. I’d never had to regain composure after a delivery before.

That should have been the end of it too, but I couldn’t get him out of my head after that first day.

Every time there was a package on my pile,my heart sped up, only to leave me feeling disappointed when I checked the address and saw it wasn’t for him. I grew to resent every other person on my route who got regular deliveries. It started to drive me mad, and I began to wonder if he was really as perfect as I remembered him to be, or if my imagination was getting away from me.

And then I did something I shouldn’t have. I gave in to temptation.

It was another early morning when I showed up on his doorstep again. This time it was bright, sunny, the air was fresh and cool and pleasant, and I stood their doubting my own sanity.

It was worth it for the look of utter confusion on his face when he opened the door. The furrow between his thick, dark eyebrows, the sharpness in those bright, emerald eyes. His hair was mussed again, though this time he had baby blue pyjama pants on where he’d just had boxers before. It would have been a disappointment if they hadn’t made him look that bit more adorable.

And he stood there and frowned at me.

“Who are they from?”

I grunted in response and pushed the bouquet into his hand.

“Hell if I know, kid. I’m just the postman.”

He muttered a thanks as he stared at the flowers in confusion and I turned on my heel and slouched off before he could see my trademark frown fade into lovesick grin.

And that’s how it began.

The flowers were conspicuous, too obvious. I chastised myself for them later. But they were a gateway drug into something more. I started searching online for small gifts, things that would seem innocuous, anonymous, but helpful in some way. I used different sites each time, hoping it would make it more difficult to trace should he try to find his benefactor. At first I kept the deliveries roughly a month apart, but the weeks in between became too much and the distance slowly dwindled until I was making two a week. And I was never disappointed by other parcels showing up, since I knew what company’s logos to see on the right box.

He seemed more and more perplexed by each package for a while, until he appeared to give up and accept his fate.

He made a comment once about them, telling me they were gifts from someone, letting me know that he wasn’t frivolous and wealthy like he thought I was going to see the parcels as a reason to burgle his home. I shrugged and grunted, called him lucky, moved on.

The next time I came, he started a conversation again, told me he was worried it was a secret admirer and they’d expect something from him when they came forward and told them who they were. I felt my heart sink at his words. I hadn’t really expected anything from him, I just wanted to see him more. I hadn’t thought too much about what he must be thinking of whoever was sending these gifts.

I sent him a t-shirt then, one with a stupid slogan on it, a loose, light pink t-shirt with the words “I don’t need no man” printed on it in big letters. He didn’t make conversation when I delivered it, but the next time I arrived, he was wearing it, and was beaming.

“I’m really relieved,” he told me, and I arched an eyebrow to prompt him to go on. He stretched out the t-shirt and looked down at it, “I thought the gifts were coming from this girl I know. I didn’t want to just come out and tell her I’m gay because without prompting it might seem a bit pushy, I don’t know. But this came the other day and I think it might be a dude.”

I looked at him with a bored expression, desperately trying not to convey how fucking hard my heart was thumping after he just fucking outed himself to me.

“Could be a joke.”

I regretted it as soon as I said it, because it was heartbreaking to watch that beautiful face fall.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

He scratched the back of his neck before signing for his new package and taking it from me.

He didn’t talk to me for the next few deliveries, and it killed me a little more each time. So I decided I needed to give him some indication that his gifts were indeed coming from a man. I can honestly say that up until this point I had never actually purchased anything from an online sex shop, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The box was far from inconspicuous, and the kid realised what it was pretty quickly as I handed it over to him, not breaking eye contact as he flushed furiously and fumbled for the pen to sign for his very clearly dildo-shaped box with an obvious sex store name printed in bold letters on the side.

I started to send him more gifts from sex shops. Nothing too kinky. Just a few somewhat jokey gifts that might also be of use in some way. Handcuffs, blindfolds, a vibrator or two. And he answered the door with a flushed face each time now, knowing what was coming. It was a pretty nice sight to see early in the morning. This gorgeous young man with bright pink cheeks answering the door in his pyjamas with adorable bed-head.

And then I stopped.

I was in over my head and I didn’t know where to go after this point. So I stopped. No more gifts, no more deliveries.

A couple of months went past and the only time I stopped by his house was to deliver bills. Nothing else.

It ate away at me, but I’d pushed it too far and I had no further to go, and I didn’t exactly want to fill his house with sex toys. No matter how much I wanted to see that perfect face again.

And then it happened.

I got in to work, went to my pile, and there it was. A bouquet of flowers. Just sitting there on my pile. His address was on the tag, but no name. And it bothered me, it really bothered me, even though I should have been happy that he found someone who wasn’t a fucking stalker.

But when I arrived at his door, he answered immediately, like he’d been waiting for me. And he leaned against the doorway with a lopsided grin.

I thrust the flowers out to him, but he made no move to take them, only leaning forward a little and taking a peek at the tag.

“Sorry, those aren’t for me.”

I frowned at him.

“Your address is on them, they’re yours.”

He shook his head and insisted, “They’re not for me, my name’s not on them.”

I outright glared at him and tried to push them into his hand.

“There is no name on them.”

“That’s because I don’t know yours.”

And I froze. To be honest, I thought I’d never woken up because it felt like I was in one of those fucking surreal dreams. And I blinked at him a few times and tried to speak but fell over my words, eventually settling for an ineloquent “What?”

“I said there’s no name because I don’t know your name. The flowers are for you.”

I looked from him to the flowers and back again. I might have done it a few times, I’m not going to lie. This took a while to sink in.

“They’re- you- I-” I took a deep breath and frowned at him again, “Your address is on them.”

He shrugged and pushed himself away from the door, rolling his shoulders back.

“I don’t know your address either. And this was the best way to let you know they were from me.”

I continued to glare at him, and we stood looking at each other for a while before I spat out a “Why?”

He grinned at me.

“Because I don’t give out my address. It didn’t take long to figure out who the gifts were coming from once I really thought about it. I didn’t quite believe it at first because you’re way out of my league looks-wise and you always acted like you didn’t really want to spend more time around me than you had to.”

Cheeky fucking brat, my heart was thumping again and I could feel my face heating up at the comment on my looks.

“You’re fucking delusional if you think anyone on this fucking planet is out of your league.”

And I realised my mistake as soon as I said it.

He grinned widely.

“So you admit it! It was you!”  
  
I frowned and turned my gaze to the ground, only looking up again as the delivery forms were snatched from my hand. He signed for the bouquet and took it graciously from my hand. Then he nodded at the papers he was handing back to me.

“I put my number on there, but you can come back when you’re off your shift to pick up your flowers. I’ll put them in water for you and we can talk more then.”

And that’s what he left me with, as he turned and closed the door behind him, leaving me standing on his doorstep once more with my jaw opening and closing, at a loss for words.

**  
And you can bet your ass I came back when my shift was over to pick up those fucking flowers.**

**Author's Note:**

> It's not the best, but hey, at least I got something written for Ereri Week. I'll try to keep up with the prompts for the rest of the week, but I'm not making any promises.


End file.
